He arches a brow at me as his lips twitch and the heaviness between us dissipates, making it easier to breathe. “Sure you don’t,” he says, not sounding convinced at all.
I do the mature thing and stick my tongue out at him.
His blue eyes darken. “Don’t stick that out unless you intend for me to use it,” he says, his voice nothing more than a husky whisper that does delicious things to me. Like making me want to stick my tongue out again just to see if he’ll follow through with his threat.
Which is very inappropriate, considering we’re trying to infiltrate a notorious gang’s camp. Holy shit, I need to get a hold of myself. We have bigger issues to deal with than my disaster of a love life and the cobwebs in my pussy.
Alex smirks at me like he knows the internal battle I’m waging because of him.
Bastard.
I scowl at him but say nothing, instead motioning for him to lead the way.
He does, giving me an infuriating wink before turning. He stalks through the copse of trees and toward the overgrown woodlands surrounding the camp. For such a big guy, he’s surprisingly stealthy as he deftly avoids twigs and fallen leaves that might make a sound and give away his position.
I’m nowhere near as quiet and graceful as he is, but I manage to follow without making too much noise. Harlow is like a silent shadow on my left as she keeps her body low, like she’s stalking prey. Above us, birds call and sing to one another, including parakeets, who are loud as hell as they flit from one tree to another. I sure as fuck didn’t expect to find them in the middle of the UK. Is it even warm enough for them here?
Concentrate, Ollie!
I shake myself and focus on keeping my steps as silent as possible, which is hard considering the entire forest floor is littered with half-rotted leaves and sticks. Thankfully, the rain last night softened the ground enough to where the noise isn’t too noticeable. Doesn’t stop Alex from shooting a sharp, annoyed look at me that would make Rhys proud when a particularly loud twig snaps beneath my foot.
Sorry, I mouth at him and he just shakes his head before venturing on.
We continue through the overgrown woodland until the outline of a metal barn becomes visible through the dense foliage. Alex stops and crouches, causing me to almost crash into his back. I stop just in time and crouch next to him as Harlow sits on my other side. His back tenses and I follow his gaze to see several guards standing on the edge of the woodlands, their backs to us.
Beside them is one of the watchtowers that Mark drew on the map, although calling it a watchtower is generous. It’s a crude wooden platform with a rickety ladder and a roof that’s got more holes than a sieve. Sitting on top of the platform is a sleeping guard leaning back against one post holding up the roof. Lying next to him is a rifle that looks similar to the one Rhys has.
“That’s going to be a problem,” Alex murmurs next to me as he nods toward the sleeping guard’s gun.
I grimace. We’d hoped that the gang would only rely on shotguns and crude melee weapons. If they have access to the same weaponry Rhys has, it’ll make our attack ten times harder and deadlier.
“We’ll need to check to see if it’s just the guys on the watchtowers that have them or if the other guards do as well,” I say back as I focus my attention back to the camp.
Beyond the guards are half a dozen people, all wearing rags and covered in dirt as they work tirelessly on a field, planting seeds within divots made by others with hoes. They’re all in various stages of starvation with gaunt faces and skeletal arms. One worker collapses into the dirt, the seeds in their palm spilling into the surrounding earth. No one around them reacts, their focus on their work, but the guards notice.
“Hey, get back to work!” one of them shouts as they march toward the prone worker and kicks them with a worn boot.
The worker doesn’t react, and my stomach clenches with dread.
“You lazy fucker,” the guard growls as they kick the worker again, harder this time.
But the worker still doesn’t move. My dread turns to nausea and a sense of helplessness washes over me. All I can do is watch while the guard abuses the poor man.
“Fuck this.” The guard slides his knife from his belt and crouches, intending to kill the worker. However, before he can, a new man bursts from nowhere and tackles the guard. The guard shouts out as the two fall to the ground and the sound of fists slamming into flesh echoes around the field as the new man beats the shit out of the guard.
But just as quickly as the fight starts, it ends when several more guards rush over and pull the man off the guard. He fights against the guards,his greasy brown hair obscuring his face, until one guard yanks his head back.
My hands fly to my mouth to muffle my gasp of horror.
Tobias’s emerald green eyes peek out from beneath a dirt-covered face that looks more haggard than it did the last time I saw him, almost two weeks ago. A bruise mars the side of his face and one of his eyes looks more swollen than the other. More bruises and cuts on his chest peek from beneath his ragged clothes.
Tears sting my eyes and I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry at the sight of him. Probably both. While I’m relieved to see him still alive, I hate that he’s here, in this awful place and in this state. He looks like he’s been in multiple fights and with how quickly he jumped to that poor man’s defence, I’m not surprised.
“Fuck,Toby,” I whisper as I watch my brother get dragged away, still fighting and cursing. Without thinking, I step forward.
Hands grab me and pull me back against a strong, hard chest. “Ollie.” I can hear the concern and horror in Alex’s voice. “You can’t save him, not yet.”
Objectively, I know that. But fuck, does it hurt watching the one person in my life who’s always been there get dragged away so they can do God-knows-what to him. I feel sick standing here, helpless.
